


Grimoire Squadron: A Collection

by saeriibon



Category: Ace Combat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saeriibon/pseuds/saeriibon
Summary: Little stories regarding my fan squadron.
Kudos: 1





	1. New Years

_ January 1st, 2011 _

_ 00:00 _

_ A nondescript bar in Oured _

“HAAAAAAPPYYYYYYY… NEW YEARSSS!!!” A man drunkenly belted out as the bar he was in erupted in cheers as the other patrons celebrated not only the start of a new year, but also the recent end of the Circum-Pacific War. Beside him sat his stoic and long suffering flight lead. She rose her glass in a small toast to humor her wingman, a poor decision as he promptly elbowed her arm, causing half her drink to spill out of her cup. Despite a nasty scar gracing his face, imposing height, and equally large personality, he quickly and profusely started apologizing and searching for napkins to clean up the mess. The booth they were at was also occupied by two other people who couldn’t help but laugh at the turn of events. This table of four, two veterans and two nuggets, composed the enigmatic and eccentric Grimoire Squadron. Agnes, the level-headed leader, sat silently as the world bustled around her, recalling the past 15 years of her life.

* * *

_ January 1st, 1996 _

_ 04:00 _

_ Unknown Airbase in Northern Osea _

“Can’t believe I’m missing my New Year’s celebration for this shit…” I quietly followed the grumbling intelligence officer as we briskly made our way to the interrogation room. Following the success of Operation: Point Blank and the disbandment of A World With No Boundaries, Osea and its allies had their hands full rounding up and gathering information on its members. We managed to capture a rogue, Belkan pilot, although I would use the term “capture” lightly. He more or less gave himself in…

_ A few hours before, in an undisclosed location _

“Sullivan, do you have a visual on the target?” The voice of my AWACS crackled in my ear. I looked out of the cockpit of my Rafale and scanned the ground below me. We were following a damaged plane that recently exited Belkan airspace and had high suspicions that the lone pilot was connected to AWWNB. As forest gave way to field, a plume of smoke and cinders rose from the land. 

“This is Sullivan, target located. Sending coordinates now…” As I lowered my altitude to better observe the wreckage, I found that, despite a small fire that had broken out, whoever was flying that plane managed to pull off an emergency landing in the field and the plane was mostly intact. “This is Sullivan again, I believe the pilot might still be alive, permission to land and capture?” I made sure to curb the enthusiasm in my voice, but I desperately wanted to know who was able to pull off a feat like that. It took a few moments for my AWACS to respond, giving me the go ahead. I managed to land fairly easily, moonlight lit the field below and the terrain itself was quite flat and smooth. Given those conditions, it dampened the awe I first felt somewhat. A few hundred feet away were the smoldering ruins of a Su-47 and the silhouette of a person, outlined by the flames. I readied my pistol as I exited my plane, still cautious about the entire situation. The figure didn’t seem to move or give any indication that it noticed my presence. Instead, it simply kept its back towards me, staring at the fire. Given the temperature, I wasn’t too concerned by this behavior, but it was still unnerving. I exhaled a small cloud of vapor and cocked the pistol, “I am Second Lieutenant Agnes Sullivan of the Osean Air Defense Force. You are under arrest for possible connection to the terrorist organization known as A World With No Boundaries. Do not resist, or I will be forced to shoot.” A bead of sweat formed at my temple as we stood in the silence that followed. The figure shifted its weight and slowly turned towards me. I blinked as I saw that the figure was just barely older than me, if not the same age. A large, fresh cut doused his right cheek with blood, but he didn’t seem to mind as he smoked a bent cigarette, arms folded across his chest. He wore a smile, but it wasn’t arrogant or vacuous. Was it… relief? 

“Alright then, missy. Where to?”

_ Present time _

The door to the interrogation room opened to that same face, albeit cleaned up and with a large bandage on it. The young pilot sat with his hands folded in front of him, as if he was going to be interrogating us. Compared to others who have sat in this room, he was taking his situation surprisingly well. The intel officer grumbled out another curse as he yanked a chair over and sat down, paperwork splaying across the table. The room was small, so even as I stood by the door I could see some of the pertinent information on the sheets. Marco Schultze, born in Anfang around 1977, callsign “Dämmerung.” The intel officer repeated the words I had just seen and struggled on the pronunciation of that last word as he read off the sheet. “‘Dämmerung,’” The young man spoke softly, “it means ‘twilight’ in your tongue.”

The officer looked up as if to silence him. “Just shut up and answer my questions,” he spat. Marco didn’t even flinch at the outburst, only made a subtle glance at me, and continued to hold his gentle disposition throughout the interrogation session. We found out that he was a member of AWWNB, although he himself played a minor hand in their actions and openly expressed doubt on their ideologies. Apparently, he tried to defect during the battle at Avalon, and was subsequently shot at by his own squadron.

“My conviction was half-assed, really… I don’t like conflict, but I guess that kind of thinking tore me apart, figuratively and literally.” He chuckled to himself. I saw his face change at that moment, his smile much more melancholic now, but it returned to normal when the officer looked up from his notes to continue questioning. He didn’t have any knowledge of other AWWNB members, save for his own squadron who all ended up getting shot down at Avalon. With nothing left to ask, the officer got up and gathered the papers, not even offering any thanks for cooperation as I opened the door for him to exit. Marco shouted “Happy New Year!” after him in an attempt to form a bond of goodwill, but was disappointingly met with a disgruntled “Four hours late...” Before I could leave, I was stopped by his voice. “What now, missy?” I turned back to look at him, a shadow of worry across his face. It was a simple question to ask; he had no friends, surviving relatives, or a country to welcome him back home, if it even exists now. However, he was young and a good pilot at that. Perhaps he could be welcomed under the fold of Osea’s wing… No, that sounds almost too idealistic. I couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, “Now, we wait.”


	2. Dawn of a New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another memory

_ March 30th, 2000 _

_ 08:30 _

_ Osean Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Oured _

“Can you believe it? We’ve known each other for four years now, soon going to be five, which is half of ten! A whole decade! Time sure flies when you’re having fun right, missy? Or maybe I should be calling you ‘boss’ now, huh?”

Marco Shultze, known as Grimoire 2 or ‘Dämmerung,’ leaned on the desk as he happily chattered away to the person sitting at it. The few people in the office at this hour gave irritated looks towards the man, clearly not happy with all the noise this early in the morning. He didn’t seem to notice or care as he expectantly stared at the person he was talking to, an amicable smile across his face. In contrast, this other person looked like the personification of a rock. She barely even looked at Marco as she scrolled through a recent report on her desktop, brows slightly furrowed and eyes squinted. There was a full cup of coffee next to her, although not even a hint of steam rose from its surface. Before Marco could speak again, she replied curtly, “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

This woman was Agnes Sullivan, Grimoire 1 and ‘Solomon.’ The two had a chance encounter following the end of the Belkan War which eventually resulted in Marco’s enlistment in the Osean Air Defense Force as her wingman in the newly formed Grimoire Squadron. Its full designation was the OADF 72nd Special Operations Wing, 10th Special Operations Squadron “Grimoire,” which made it sound much more important than it actually was. On paper, its primary roles were covert ops, intelligence, surveillance, target acquisition, and reconnaissance. Its emblem, emblazoned on the pairs' shoulders, was primarily purple and gold and contained a stylized hand turning over a book with five stars arcing over it. The name wrapped around the the perimeter of the roundel. There was a phrase written beneath the book as well, ' _Sic Transit Gloria Mundi_ ,' 'All Glory is Fleeting.' All in all, it was a quite regal design.

A lull in action and lack of assignments have caused them to remain grounded for the time being. Of the duo, it was clear who wasn't handling this situation well.

Marco huffed in faux annoyance and leaned further on the desk to see the report Agnes was studying, much to her chagrin. The report detailed the construction of a new Yuktobanian submarine, and a powerful one at that. “Ah… So that’s why you’re wearing such a scary face,” he concluded. “Technology sure is amazing, even after Ulysses we continue to make such great weapons.”

“‘We’?” Agnes inquired. Marco practically jumped off the desk and spread his arms open, “Yes! We! People!” Someone elsewhere in the office audibly voiced their grievances with an exasperated ‘shut up’ laced with an intention that was still lost on Marco. However, as soon as he saw Agnes’ face, he slowly lowered his arms and his face lost that beaming quality. If looks could kill, then this was certainly it. “I’ll… Uh… I’ll make you a fresh cup of… Uh.... Coffee… Boss…” He shrank back and slowly reached for the mug as Agnes refused to break eye contact with him. As soon as it was in his hands he promptly turned to retreat to the break room. While he was gone, Agnes propped her elbows on her desk and put her face in her hands.  _ ‘What the hell were the higher ups even thinking… Four years is clearly not enough time to entrust what are still essentially two nuggets to their own squadron. Let alone one like this…’ _ She looked back up at her screen, giving the report another thorough look through before closing the window as Marco arrived with two steaming mugs of coffee.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Marco stated as he set one of the mugs down.

“You usually ask that before you make the coffee… But, yes.” Agnes accepted the mug and leaned back in her chair to look out of the window beside her. As the sun shone down on Osea’s capital, her mind drifted back to technology and weapons. She was still young and, having witnessed the weapons controlled by Belka and AWWNB, she worried about what the future would hold. It’s been months since the Ulysses incident, but machines like that Stonehenge out in Usea… It was far too easy to imagine them being pointed at far closer targets. 

“Boss, your coffee’s gonna get cold again.” Marco’s point jostled her out of her thoughts as she took a sip of the lukewarm drink. Marco practically chugged his down and slammed the mug on the table before going off to wander the building and exercise his legs. “Another day, another dollar as they say. Right, boss?” He quipped before exiting the office. Agnes sighed and shook her head.  _ ‘If only I could have your optimism, Schultz.’ _

* * *

_January 1st, 2011_

_00:15_

_A nondescript bar in Oured_

_'I truly hate being proved right.'_ Agnes mused as Marco continued his fruitless search for napkins. Osea recently had to deal with the threats the Arkbird, the Scinfaxi and Hrimfaxi, and the SOLG presented. Years before that, Stonehenge and Megalith threatened the entire Usean continent. _'When will it end, I wonder...'_ She finished her thought as Marco returned from across the bar with fistfuls of napkins, throwing them on the table like confetti. "Flashy, but ineffective," Agnes critiqued as she aided him in wiping up her drink. "C'mon, boss, cut me some slack here, I'm drunk!" Marco retorted, albeit jokingly. She gave him a warning look, "I appreciate your honesty, Schultz, but please try to be a good example for the nuggets here..." She nodded her head to the two other people at the booth with them who also began aiding in the cleanup efforts. _'The fate of the future lies within the younger generations,'_ Agnes focused on the cyclical motions of wiping the table, _'I must ensure that the path ahead is lit for them, even if it tears me apart.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco finally found napkins! And it only took two short trips down memory lane


	3. On the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One uneventful summer's day...  
> Two more members of Grimoire are introduced...

_August 14th, 2010_

_12:00_

_Unknown Airbase in Osea_

The late summer sun blazed relentlessly over the quiet base. In the shimmering air, two young women ran side by side.

“C’mon, Marie! Just a little bit more!” A tall woman with long, black hair tied into a ponytail cheered towards her jogging buddy who started to falter.

“Nia… I don’t think I’m gonna make it…” Groaned the other woman, her comically sized glasses began to fog up as strands of her wavy, caramel-colored hair started to stick to her face. Her footfalls became more erratic and before long, the view she had of those flowing, ebony strands turned into the dull, dark gray of asphalt.

“Marie!” Nia gasped and knelt down, rolling Marie over onto her back. Marie shielded her face from the glaring sun with her forearms and let out a defeated sigh. “Marie,” Nia chided, “We only have five more laps to go. Let’s finish them together.”

Nia Fletcher, the newly appointed Grimoire 3, was also known as ‘Magpie.’ Her downed partner, Marie Adams, was Grimoire 4. Unlike the other three pilots in the squadron, Marie had yet to receive her callsign as she was both new to the team as well as the OADF as a whole. A few hundred meters away, their seniors, Agnes Sullivan and Marco Shultze, watched from the shadows of an old hangar.

“They’ve got some good chemistry together, eh, boss?” Marco mused as Nia helped Marie to her feet, allowing the slower one to set the pace as they continued their laps. 

“Mm.” Agnes let out a noise not of agreement, but one of acknowledgement to let Marco know that she was listening to him.

“Listen, I know you’re worried about the Marie kid, but she’s got potential.” Agnes cocked her eyebrow in doubt as his words. Marco turned to her and gestured towards himself, “Remember how you sent in that good word for me back then? I turned out great! You just gotta do the same for her and give her a cha-.” His thoughts were cut off when he saw Agnes tense and started yelling.

“Adams!” She snapped, “Get off the ground and stop floundering about. You’re a pilot, so act like one. If I see you fall again, you’re running five more laps!” She sighed and let her face relax to its usual, deadpan facade. She glared back to her companion as he chuckled a bit, “You find any of this funny?”

“No, no… Carry on, boss.” He raised his hands in surrender and backed off towards the direction of the mess hall. “Just some words of wisdom from good, old Marco here: Cut the nugget some slack, will you? Can’t be a hardass all the time, you know?” With that, he turned and shoved his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket, continuing on his lunchtime pilgrimage.

Agnes sighed again and massaged the bridge of her nose. _‘I really have no reason to worry… But, I have this ominous feeling… “Potential,” huh? Perhaps…’_ She removed her hand from her face and stared up at the sky, faint wisps of clouds cutting across the vast blue.

Marie and Nia continued their run after the scolding from Agnes. “We are pilots, yeah… but, why do we have to run…? We sit in planes… we’re not foot soldiers…” Marie huffed as they started their penultimate lap. “How are you so fit, Nia? I feel like I’m running to my death...”

“A strong body leads to a strong mind and vice versa… I believe.” Nia was covered in sweat, but didn’t seem nearly as winded as Marie was. “And if you feel like running to your death… At least keep your chin up about it,” she smiled in spite of the slightly morbid words spoken. “Just don’t forget that you’re not alone in this, alright? We’re almost done.” A moment after her brief pep talk, their feet passed over a crack in the pavement, the long awaited marker signaling that their lap was complete.

Marie stumbled to a halt, nearly doubling over as she gripped her legs for stability. Nia gave a few hearty pats to her back, earning a good coughing fit from Marie. Coughing turned to tired laughing as she triumphantly lifted her shaking arms into the air, “We… finally did it…”

Nia smiled as she high-fived Marie. “Let’s get you some lunch, shall we?” She suggested as she guided her exhausted friend towards the mess hall.

Agnes watched the two shamble off together. It almost reminded her of those times of having to drag Marco’s drunk ass out of bars in the olden days. She turned towards the inside of the hangar, mostly used for storing scrapped planes. Her trusty Rafale sat in the back, collecting dust now that her squadron was outfitted with newer aircraft. She approached it and brought her hand up, following the contours of the metal. She recalled the night she met Marco, helping him into the aft seat and bringing him into base for questioning. Little did she know that the fledgling Belkan turncoat she picked up would end up being her wingman in her very own squadron. _‘Time certainly does fly, doesn’t it…’_ Looking over the dents and scratches earned from her Rafale’s final battle, she was slightly thankful that there hasn’t been much action for her over the last ten years. The repetitive sound of a fist against metal from the opening of the hangar roused her from her thoughts, causing her to sharply turn towards the source.

Silhouetted against the harsh noon light was Nia, though not accompanied by Marie, which was rare. “Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant Colonel Sullivan. I just wanted to let you know that lunch is going to end soon. I know you, uh, haven’t had anything to eat yet today since you missed breakfast too…” She shifted her weight as she waited for Agnes’ response, becoming uncomfortable as the two stood in silence, almost as if her superior was scrutinizing her very existence.

“I’ll eat on my own time, Fletcher.” The brief reply earned a small sigh of relief from Nia as she merely nodded and gave a quick salute before hurrying away from the hangar. Agnes furrowed her brows as she watched her leave. Nia was a strange one, partially why she was requested by Agnes to join Grimoire. She had top marks in all areas of academics, above average flying for someone her age, obedient and acute, a model soldier. However, she didn’t have any friends and even kept interactions with her instructors to a bare minimum. Another thing that bothered Agnes was her history, or rather, lack thereof. She apparently emigrated alone to Osea from somewhere within Usea after the Continental War ended and had no surviving relatives. Despite having spent 12 whole years of her life in Usea, no records from there about her were ever discovered. The Osean brass assumed she was a child soldier, sent to infiltrate Osea in order to gather intel for the Free Erusea movement, but given that she had no way or desire to communicate with anyone from Erusea and Usea as a whole, that theory lost its credibility as the years went by and she displayed more loyalty to the country that took her in. Still, Agnes had been ordered to monitor Nia as much as possible in the event that their suspicions were correct. The only changes Agnes observed since receiving Nia was that she seemed much more cheerful and talkative when Marie joined the squadron a few months later. Maybe it was “good chemistry” as Marco had put it and Agnes didn’t seem inclined to bother reporting it to the higher ups in case they found some problem with that as well. She was actually appreciative of the change, as this seemed closer to what the “real Nia” was. If only Marie could follow in her footsteps and come out of her own shell.

“Spacing out again, boss?” Marco teased, waving a plastic-wrapped sandwich in front of Agnes’ face. She flinched and grumbled, snatching it away before he could pull it back. “Oi, oi, a ‘thank you’ would be nice. From what Fletcher said, you probably weren’t going to stop by the mess hall anytime soon, so I snagged you a premium ham and cheese sandwich before they ran out.” Even though his request was only met with the thin sound of plastic being unravelled, he still smiled and leaned against Agnes’ Rafale beside her. “Is this silent treatment punishment for getting blood all over the seats that one time? I already said sorry for that, you know.”

Agnes smirked through her mouthful of food, “Thank you, Shultze,” she said after taking a few more bites.

Marco gave a friendly punch to her shoulder. “Remember, boss. You can’t run on an empty stomach!” 

Agnes nodded and finished her sandwich before sputtering slightly as she gave his words more thought, “Run…?” She didn’t have time to compose herself as Marco started pushing her out of the hangar.

“Yeah! Let’s show those nuggets how the professionals do it. 30 laps! You and me!” He rushed past with a stupid grin plastered on his face, haphazardly tying his flight jacket around his waist as he went.

Agnes snorted despite herself and decided to humor him for a bit. _‘You never change, do you?’_


	4. Nia's Diary

_[A tattered diary. Recovered from Nia Fletcher’s room a few days after her and Marie Adams’ disappearances in late January of 2011. Most of it is wordless pages filled with nonsensical drawings ranging from cartoon-ish animals to abstract designs. Inside the cover, chicken scratch letters and poor grammar sound an easily understood warning: ‘If you ever find this diary, do not read it. Burn it.’ Despite the ominous warning, a torn rainbow sticker is placed above the message. Below the message is a crudely drawn demon making an angry face as fire surrounds it. On the next page, the handwriting is startlingly more legible, but the entry lacks a date.]_

I remember coming to Osea on a cargo ship, huddled within a cold and dark container. There were other refugees accompanying me, but I traveled alone, and we all crammed ourselves silently into a corner, listening, waiting.

_[In the corner of the page, there is a doodle of a figure in a fetal position within a dark box, next to it, the same figure seems to be springing from the box, having grown wings.]_

A patterned knock on the outside of the container let us know it was safe to leave without being spotted. Some rose immediately at the sound while others stayed behind, only getting up once the worker who was helping us started closing the doors again.

Though it was dark, the lights from the port and the nearby city made coveted shadows scarce to come by. Luckily for me, I had experience sneaking around in dangerous places. Being severely underweight also helped, literally keeping me light on my feet and allowing myself to squeeze into tight spaces when needed.

I didn’t really have time to appreciate the city until I was actually in it. Bright, colorful, people everywhere, loud, but not a loudness attributed with explosions or gunfire. The light cover of snow made it all feel like heaven. I had almost forgotten I was a dirtied, starving refugee, illegally entering another country for my own personal gain.

That was how I felt.

_[There is a blank page, followed by another one with more writing. It can only be assumed that this is a new entry.]_

The man who helped smuggle us to Osea gave me an address somewhere within the city. He said it should be the first place I should go to, given my situation. It was difficult trying to find my way without asking anyone for directions. I didn’t have a good grasp of the language at the time and was afraid someone might pick up on my accent and try to start something with me.

Everything from there was kind of a blur for me… I went to a homeless shelter… Got arrested for pick-pocketing… They couldn’t find any records on me… I was put in a foster family… Sorry, so much happened, I seemed to have forgotten my diary completely. Not much time to write.

_[New entry.]_

There were other kids in the family, none like me though. I remember thinking, ‘I have to get out as soon as possible’, not because the people who were around me were bad or anything… I just had to leave, build myself up to something my family could be proud of. My real family.

That’s why I joined the Osean military as soon as I was old enough. My father was a part of the Delarusian Army, but I wanted to be a part of the Air Force. I wanted to fly. I remember meeting a strange man before I left my homeland. He was a pilot, too. Hearing him recount his stories from long ago made me nostalgic for a memory I never had. There was so much to discover about this world that I just couldn’t do in my war-torn home.

I came here to preserve my pride. To follow my dream. To live. I must live. Longer than anyone else if I have to. Then, the day will come when I can return home and I can finally change things.

_[New entry.]_

It’s been a while since I last wrote here. I joined an Osean squadron… ‘Grimoire,’ they call it. My leader is called ‘Solomon.’ Those names remind me of a legend I heard, of an ancient king who possessed a magical book and could command 72 demons. The old pilot I met all those years ago also mentioned something about a “demon” during some of his stories… I wonder if they are related.

Solomon frightens me. It’s like she sees right through me sometimes.

Her number two, Dämmerung, is a Belkan, but he seems friendly.

A few weeks after I joined, another girl, Marie, followed. She is weak, but tries her best like a puppy.

I would say it is nice, but I want to go home. It’s almost time. I’m learning more and more, becoming stronger than ever under Solomon’s tutelage, but leaving now would make me their enemy right? I must stay to live. Just a little longer. Homesickness can wait.

_[New entry.]_

I don’t want to fight the Yuktobanians. I don’t want to fight for Osea. I don’t want to fight the Belkans. I don’t want to fight their wars. That isn’t why I’m here. I haven’t seen mother or father in ages. They could already be dead. I have avoided looking into the situation in Usea for all these years to avoid drawing suspicion to myself, but Solomon already knows. So why am I still afraid? I don’t want to die. I don’t want to. I don’t. I don’t.

_[New entry.]_

I’m so sorry Marie. I’ve stayed as long as I could. If you find this, then you already know half of my story. Meet me at [the rest of the words are smudged]. Don’t be late. We can go together. 


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing action scenes with planes is hard... OTL

_ January 29th _

_ 23:00 _

_ Southeast Osean Airspace _

“Are you sure this is safe? It feels like the plane’s going to fall apart before we even leave Osean airspace…” Marie nervously checked the flight instruments in her half of the cockpit, all in various states of disrepair. “Nia…” Marie slumped into her seat when she didn’t get a reply. 

The two had stolen an old Mig-29 from the base they were stationed at, garnering unwanted attention in their hasty escape. As far as Marie knew, neither she nor Nia knew exactly where they were going. Judging from the position of the moon, Marie guessed that they were heading eastward. 

Despite catching the few personnel stationed on base off guard, the likelihood of getting intercepted was high and did nothing to settle the knot in Marie’s gut.

“Do you think we could survive a dogfight in this? Were you planning on leaving without thinking that anything could go wrong?” Marie’s tone was sharper than she intended it to be, and winced when she saw Nia glance at her.

“I understand you’re worried,” Nia reassured, “But, please, trust me on this. We are not alone...” Nia pointed at their 1 o’clock and as Marie followed her finger, she noticed another Fulcrum illuminated by moonlight, flying in the same direction as them. She squinted, but it was too far away to see any recognizable livery. Marie looked around and noticed they were surrounded by four total planes, all of them keeping a fair distance away from their own.

“Friendlies? Can we... Radio them?”

“I would advise against that. Talking between ourselves is fine, but radioing other aircraft right now could be risky…” Nia mused as she scanned around the horizon. Sweat began to coalesce on the back of her neck. Her facade was cool, but she knew that ‘those two’ would surely follow them. She and Marie both had acquired sensitive intel over the years by being a part of Grimoire, and having two people like that suddenly defect in the wake of one of Osea’s largest conflicts won’t go down well with upper-management. Lieutenant Colonel, or rather now, Colonel Sullivan and her “dog,” Major Shultze, were fierce pilots contrary to the former’s humility and the latter’s affability that they displayed on the ground. Those two are the last people on the planet that Nia wants to see at this moment.

* * *

It had been almost 45 minutes into their flight. Nia’s flying was so steady that Marie actually started to doze off when a bright flash at her 7 o’clock startled her. One of their escorts lit up into flames as it broke from the formation, turning into a raging ball of fire and steel shortly afterwards. She looked to her radar, noticing two blips closing in on their position.

“No…” Nia stared at the descending wreckage, no signs that the pilot had ejected in time. The remaining three planes began to take countermeasures against the sudden attack as Nia started accelerating in an attempt to escape the ensuing dogfight. 

“Wait, we’re not gonna help them?” Marie looked back and forth between the escorts and Nia. Before she could get an answer, their radio began to crackle to life.

“To… uniden-... craft… This is… C-... Sulli-... and M-... tze... Lan-... im-... ly… Else… will… force…” 

“It’s them! It’s the Colonel and Major!” Marie started fumbling with something, and before Nia realized it, Marie had started to radio back. “Colonel Sullivan? Major Shultze? It’s us, Second Lieutenant Adams and First Lieutenant Fletcher. Please, don’t shoot. We’ll land as soon as we can.”

“What are you thinking, Marie?” Nia started to panic as another ball of light backlit their plane.

“This isn’t a good idea”, Marie gesticulated around her, “Maybe if we stop now we-”

“I didn’t come all this way just to give up. We’re almost home, anyways, just a little farther…” Their plane started to shake as she hit the afterburners. Even if the thing were to fall apart in the air, as long as they made it past Osean airspace, as long as she and Marie could eject, then at least the extraction team would be there to pick them up. “Everything’s going to be f-” Another explosion cut her off, quickly followed by a second.

“Was that… the last of our…?” Marie strained to look behind her when the missile warnings started going off. She braced herself as Nia took evasive maneuvers. As they twisted and turned through the air, Marie managed to catch a glimpse of their former flight lead’s familiar F-22 in hot pursuit.

“Fle-... dams… Charged with… eason… and desertion.” The choppy nature of the radio seemed to magnify the threatening tone in Agnes’ voice. Marie gulped as the missile warning went off again.

“They wouldn’t actually kill us, right, Nia?” She yelped as Nia suddenly pulled upwards, causing the missile and Agnes’ plane to overshoot them. As soon as she could, Nia fired a barrage of machine gun rounds, but only a few connected as Agnes turned sharply to try and get behind them again. During that brief interim, Marie realized something, or rather, someone was missing. Marco, Agnes’ wingman, was nowhere to be seen.  _ ‘Wait…’ _

“Nia, below us!” Marie shouted just in time for Nia to roll the plane over as machine gun fire nearly tore the belly open. Soon after, Marco’s F-22 followed, breaching through the sky like a shark.

“Did that bastard just try to crash into us?” Nia cried incredulously as she arced the plane again to avoid Agnes’ missile fire. “Two against one is hardly a fair fight… cowards,” she spat.

“Y-... re… th-... one running… G-... up.” Agnes replied to Nia’s accusation. 

Marie began to blackout every so often, Gs crushing her against her seat as Nia did her best to ward off their opponents. She looked to her fuel gauge as the needle slowly made its way to E. “Nia…” She stopped when she heard another explosion, this time it was Agnes’ plane that was on fire.

“Yes!” Nia cheered, suddenly invigorating by getting a substantial hit on her superior. She angled the nose of the plane downwards to try and pick up more speed, using the fleeting moment to make a break to international airspace over the Atlantic Ocean. The missile warnings didn’t seem to stop as Marco gave chase, exhausting nearly all of his weapons in a last ditch effort to down their aircraft.

“Fol-... end… of th-... rth…” The radio solemnly crackled with Marco’s voice, the first words he had exchanged since the confrontation. An explosion to their left rocked them and as the cloud of smoke dissipated, Marie realized with horror that their left wing had been completely ripped off. 

Nia noticed it as well, but seemed less phased. “Marie, it’s time to go.”

“R-right…” Marie focused her nerves and together they both ejected as their aircraft began to plummet into the sea. At the speed they were travelling, the force tore Marie’s helmet off of her head, breaking her nose in the process. She looked around in a daze and breath a sigh of relief when she saw Nia’s parachute not too far from her. Above, Marco’s F-22 roared as it passed them. A familiar pit grew in Marie’s core as the aircraft turned around and seemed to barrel straight towards them. ‘ _ The Major wouldn’t actually…’ _ She flinched as the aircraft did a second pass, close enough to break her eardrums and buffeted her parachute. She hesitantly opened her eyes and saw Marco begin to head back towards Osea. ‘ _ Too close for comfort… _ ’ 

* * *

“Grimoire 1 to Grimoire 2, fall back.” Agnes gritted her teeth as she started radioing for an emergency landing at a nearby airbase. ‘ _ I have to say, I’m impressed, Fletcher. Landing a hit like that on me… _ ’

“Grimoire 2 to Grimoire 1… Understood.” Marco begrudgingly formed up with his lead. “I’d bail out if I were you, boss. Better safe than sorry.”

“Don’t underestimate my abilities. I remember you pulling off the same thing in less desirable conditions some 15 years ago.”

“Hm, touché.”

* * *

Landing was a bit hectic as the fire crew swarmed the runway, closely followed by a medical team as Agnes was helped out of her plane and led away. However, despite the crew’s efforts to douse the wreckage, there was a series of panicked shouts. Agnes slowed and turned towards the sounds out of curiosity. She saw the fire crew running, frantically gesturing in a way that told her ‘get a move on.’ Before she could move any faster, a bright light drowned out everything. Then wind and heat. She felt something knock into her head as she fell backwards, bringing her arms up to cushion her fall. The ringing in her ears accompanied a dull, throbbing pain in her eye. She instinctively brought a hand up to her face, her glove slipping on something wet and bringing more pain than before. She groaned as she rolled onto her stomach and got up from her prone position. The movement caused more blood to dribble out onto the ground beneath her. The smell of fuel and smoke was strong, with a faint hint of burnt flesh. She looked around, most people were around where she was when the blast happened and they all seemed to be alive. In pain, but alive. She reached up to her face again, gingerly feeling what she now realized was a sizable piece of shrapnel lodged into her left eye socket. She smiled in spite of it all. ‘ _ Interesting parting gift…’ _ Was her last thought before she blacked out.


End file.
